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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511046">All Our Tomorrows (I Want Forever with You)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_Time_I_Wont_Regret_My_Username/pseuds/This_Time_I_Wont_Regret_My_Username'>This_Time_I_Wont_Regret_My_Username</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All of the Weasleys - Freeform, Christmas Party, Christmas Shopping, Christmas at the Burrow (Harry Potter), Digital Art, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, Earl Grey Tea - Freeform, Family Fluff, Fibonacci Sequence Format, Fireside conversations, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Gift Giving, Gratuitous Descriptions of Draco, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is Cold Boy, Love Confessions, M/M, Matchmaker Cat, New Year's Eve, Non-Explicit Sex, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Snow, Very Very Light Angst, don't ask how old they are i don't know, flirting???</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:13:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,668</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511046</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_Time_I_Wont_Regret_My_Username/pseuds/This_Time_I_Wont_Regret_My_Username</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoiler: they kiss.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>H/D Mistletoe Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. living in winter,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/manixzen/gifts">manixzen</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you E and T for being wonderful betas, S and C for the support/cheerleading, and the mods for running this! ❤️ I had a lot of fun choosing to do this in the Fibonacci sequence format, though it eventually goes backwards and mirrors itself in word count. Also, the chapter titles are tweaked Taylor Swift lyrics. </p><p>Lizz, I hope this makes you smile. 💞 I loved your prompts, and I tried to incorporate as much as I could without making it angsty. You are a joy and an inspiration, and I'm incredibly lucky to know you. Love you and the gweeb family to bits!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Friday.</p><p>Harry wakes alone to cold, empty sheets.</p><p>-x-</p><p>He dresses with unhurried movements. Isabelle, a ragdoll cat that isn’t his, watches him with narrowed, keen eyes.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Few students remain for Christmas, the Great Hall nearly empty. Harry sits beside Neville, admires the decorations, and tries not to stare at Draco.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Harry accompanies Neville to Greenhouse Two after breakfast to put small scarves on the mandrakes. He’s not particularly looking forward to it, but Neville always makes pleasant company.</p><p>Well, until Neville mentions Draco with a grin, just to fluster Harry.</p><p>-x-</p><p>The mandrakes are dealt with by ten. They drink tea over conversation and soft laughter. Then, they cast warming charms and step out of the humid greenhouse.</p><p>Snow begins to fall, the snowflakes, gentle things that melt when they meet Harry’s skin. Harry smiles — Neville grumbles.</p><p>They walk briskly back to the castle. Isabelle greets them in the entryway, rubbing against their legs.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Back in his office, alone with the snow on the windowsill and papers to grade, Harry twirls his wand idly, leaning back in his chair. He levitates the snow globe on his desk — turns it upside down, right side up, over and over — and thinks.</p><p>There’s one week until Christmas. Christmas, the faculty party, and the dreaded gift exchange. Harry has yet to get his giftee anything. He simply has no idea where to start.</p><p>After all, how is he supposed to buy a gift for <em>Draco Malfoy</em>, who seemingly never wants for anything?</p><p>Harry sighs. He’s put off grading long enough.</p><p>-x-</p><p>It’s stopped snowing by the time lunch rolls around, but it’s no less cold in the castle. Harry leaves the heat of the fire in his office with a mournful look and walks down to the Great Hall for lunch. He shivers, casting warming charms as he goes.</p><p>In the Great Hall, enchanted snow falls from the ceiling and disappears before it settles on the ground. A few students and professors are seated at the only remaining table — most of the professors take their meals in their quarters this time of year, apart from Minerva, Neville, and Draco.</p><p>Draco is seated on the other side of Neville. Harry’s eyes wander to him the entire time they eat, and to Isabelle, sleeping in his lap. Draco’s long, pale fingers curl under her chin.</p><p>Neville shoots him knowing looks, which he ignores. He glances to Draco’s face, and finds Draco staring back at him.</p><p>Draco quirks his eyebrow, and Harry turns his gaze to his empty plate, heart fluttering.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Draco enters Harry’s office later, smelling faintly like whatever potions he’s been brewing. Asphodel and monkshood, Harry thinks, if his potions skills have improved at all — Merlin knows Draco has tried his damndest to teach Harry something.</p><p><em>“A Defence professor should be able to recognise poisons, not just curses, don’t you think?” </em>Draco always argues, and Harry agrees, but potions have never come easily to him.</p><p>Draco leans against the doorframe, eyes trained on Harry as he marks papers. For a few minutes, Harry doesn’t acknowledge him, and Draco remains silent. Harry’s skin burns under the weight of his heavy stare. He sets aside his quill and looks up.</p><p>Draco’s soft expression makes Harry’s heart thrum. He finds it difficult to look away from Draco’s eyes — beautiful, and full of meanings that Harry doesn’t understand.</p><p>Draco shifts his stance, hair falling over his shoulder, and Harry’s eyes catch on the movement.</p><p>“What do you need?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even. Draco’s lips twitch.</p><p>“Do I need a reason to see my favourite Defence teacher?” he asks playfully, and Harry laughs.</p><p>“I’m the <em>only </em>Defence teacher.”</p><p>“Oh, fine. I came to ask if you’re busy tomorrow,” Draco answers. “Longbottom and I are heading to Hogsmeade.”</p><p>Harry rolls his eyes — Draco still calls Neville <em>Longbottom</em>, despite being friends for years and Neville actually being <em>Zabini</em>, now — but it’s affectionate.</p><p>“I’ll go. Got some Christmas shopping to do,” Harry says lightly, and Draco’s eyes gleam. Almost <em>knowingly</em>, Harry thinks nervously.</p><p>As quickly as Draco arrived, he’s gone, leaving Harry with a windowsill of snow and papers to grade.</p><p>-x-</p><p>That evening, long after Draco has left him alone, Harry retreats to the Astronomy Tower. He leans against the railing and shivers, watching the sun dip lower in the sky until it’s fallen past the trees. The world is quiet up here. Gentle.</p><p>A slight breeze ruffles Harry’s hair, bitterly cold. He pulls his robes tighter, watching the trees sway below him.</p><p>And his mind, as it always does in the silence, wanders to Draco.</p><p>He thinks of Draco, and his potions lab. He remembers all the times Draco has brewed Pepperup potions while Harry has watched. It’s a thing for them now, an agreement, when the students start making their annual trips to the Hospital Wing.</p><p>He thinks of Draco, and his long, blond hair pulled into a messy bun, a stubborn strand always finding its way over his eye. His bottom lip is always pulled between his teeth when he brews, eyebrows furrowed when he counts his stirs.</p><p>He thinks of Draco, and the mahogany cabinet in his office, filled with tins and jars of tea leaves. How the four shelves are completely full, organised alphabetically, the labels written in Draco’s neat script. Harry will never understand what Draco intends to do with so much tea, but Draco delights in having it — as does Neville, who goes to Draco’s office almost as much as Harry does — so Harry will always just accept a cup of whatever they’re drinking.</p><p>His chest fills with slow, steady warmth. It’s an easy, straight-forward feeling, something that he could fall into if he let himself.</p><p>Once, he would have lied to himself about what his feelings mean. But after so much time spent watching and hoping and <em>desiring</em>, he can’t even pretend that his feelings for Draco are just platonic anymore.</p><p>Harry finds, idly, that he doesn’t want to pretend.</p><p>Minutes pass, and his thoughts turn to the gift exchange.</p><p>He’s been telling himself that it’s impossible to find something for Draco, simply because he never wants anything. He has Isabelle, he has every potion supply under the sun, and he has his impressive collection of tea leaves. But Harry can admit that he was wrong — that’s not why it’s so difficult to figure this out.</p><p>He just doesn’t know what will make Draco’s chest burst with warmth the same way Harry’s does just <em>thinking </em>about Draco.</p><p>He hums in thought, absently fiddling with a loose thread on his robes, and wonders whether Draco’s collection could use some more Earl Grey.</p><p>A sliver of moonlight emerges from behind the clouds. The breeze whispers its gentle agreement.</p><p>Earl Grey, it is.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Saturday.</p><p>Harry wakes, shivering, to the early morning light and a dying fire. He rolls over in bed with a groan, cursing the cold stone of the castle, and his bed, too, for being so large and empty as it is.</p><p>He wants to sink into the blankets for a bit longer, not even wanting to reach for his wand to warm himself up, but a rhythmic <em>clinking </em>sound from across the room draws his attention. With a sigh, he sits up and puts his glasses on.</p><p>He squints through the soft light to see Isabelle, dragging a bag almost as large as she is through the door with her mouth. Her legs are on either side of the knobbly velvet sack, her gait awkward and adorable as she pulls it towards Harry. He chuckles at the sight.</p><p>He slips out of bed, sliding his feet into his slippers, and bends to scratch Isabelle’s chin as she drops the bag by his feet. Her fur is soft beneath his fingers.</p><p>“What’ve you got for me today?” he mutters. Isabelle purs and rubs against his legs in answer. She must be especially proud of what she’s brought him today. She started doing it years ago, once she finally warmed up to Harry, and since then, there’s hardly been a day that she hasn’t stolen one of Draco’s possessions to give to him.</p><p>Harry bends and picks the “gift” up, knees cracking as he does, and he groans. The bag is soft and lumpy in his hands, and he can guess by the feeling that it’s full of vials. He pulls open the string and looks inside, and sure enough, it’s just a few empty glass vials.</p><p>Isabelle looks up at him proudly, chest puffed, and Harry laughs — she almost resembles Draco.</p><p>“Thank you, Isabelle,” he murmurs, setting the vials on his bedside table in favour of scratching behind her ear. She trills happily.</p><p>Isaballe wanders off shortly after, leaving Harry to shower and dress slowly, thinking about how nice it would be to just stay under the hot spray of the shower forever. But he’s going to Hogsmeade today, and Harry promises himself that he’s <em>finally </em>going to get Draco’s present.</p><p>He eats a quick breakfast in the Great Hall with Neville and Draco, before they set off for Hogsmeade through the snow.</p><p>They make small talk as they go. Neville talks animatedly about Blaise and the new flavours of gin he’s been whipping up for the New Year’s party. Draco makes a comment here or there about it, and for now, Harry is content to just listen and watch his friends’ mouths quirk into smiles.</p><p>They part ways when they arrive at Hogsmeade, agreeing to meet at the Three Broomsticks at noon, and Harry briskly makes his way to Madam Puddifoot’s.</p><p>Seeing the little tea shop inspires a few less-than-fond memories of his fifth year, but it was ages ago, and he’s since made better memories of the place with Draco.</p><p><em>“I like the tins Puddifoot puts the tea leaves in</em>,” Draco once commented, and it’s stuck with Harry since. It was years ago — back when Draco’s hair was still short and slicked back, sleeves always pulled down over his forearms, and Harry whole-heartedly believed he would end up with Ginny.</p><p>Harry shakes off the memories and ducks into Madam Puddifoot’s, the bell above the door chiming. The warmth of the shop hits him, and he gives a satisfied sigh, looking around for Madam Puddifoot. The shop is empty, save for a lone patron in the corner, face hidden behind an issue of <em>The Quibbler.</em></p><p>Madam Puddifoot bustles out from behind the counter and beams at him, eyes twinkling knowingly when he asks for her best Earl Grey leaves, and sends him on his way minutes later with a tin of it.</p><p>It’s rose gold in colour, which is fitting of the shop, and Harry thinks of Draco’s words as he looks at it. He traces the plaque that reads <em>Puddifoot’s Earl Grey, </em>the letters embossed in tight cursive. The lip of the lid is decorated with shimmering leaves.</p><p>He shrinks it and puts it into his pocket, continuing down the cobblestone street to Scrivenshaft’s to buy Percy’s present.</p><p>-x-</p><p>A wave of heat rushes over Harry when he enters The Three Broomsticks, and he sighs gratefully, releasing the warming charms on his coat.</p><p>The Three Broomsticks hasn’t changed much since Harry was a student. It’s still smoky, frequented by the same patrons — Harry, Neville, and Draco now part of that group, he thinks with a smile — and Madam Rosmerta is still running the place. She smiles at him from behind the counter, and they nod to each other by way of greeting.</p><p>Surprisingly, there aren’t many people today. They must be staying indoors, considering that it’s colder than a witch’s tit right now, and he finds that he prefers the usual loud and boisterous bar over this. But at least he can spot Neville more easily than usual, sitting in a booth in the corner and cradling a steaming beverage, a few bags by his feet.</p><p>Neville grins when he spots Harry making his way over to the booth, scooting to make room for him. Like this, Harry will be sitting beside Draco, and he suspects that it was on purpose.</p><p>“Finally found something for Draco?” Neville asks curiously as Harry sits down with a sigh and sets his bag from Scrivenshaft on the floor. Neville peers into the bag, frowning at its contents. “<em>Harry</em>. Tell me you didn’t get him a <em>quill</em>.”</p><p>Harry has to laugh at the skepticism in Neville’s tone, but his skin heats because he <em>did </em>consider a quill a few days ago. He immediately discarded the idea, of course, but it crossed his mind.</p><p>“No, no, that’s for Percy,” he explains, easing back into the seat and pulling off his gloves. Neville lets out a relieved sigh, and Harry gives him a significant look with his next words. “Anyway, you aren’t supposed to know that I drew Draco’s name, remember? Filius would have our heads if he knew I told you… and who knows, he could have spies on us <em>right now</em>.”</p><p>Neville laughs, but he goes a little pale and takes an eager sip of his drink. The Ravenclaw head of house takes Secret Santa very seriously. They learned that the hard way, their first year as professors, and Harry doesn’t think his left ear has been the same since.</p><p>Just then, Rosmerta — with her always-excellent timing — slides up to the table. She’s carrying Harry’s usual brew, wearing a smirk, and Harry eyes her nervously.</p><p>“Just you two today, or is the blondie joining ya?” Rosmerta asks as she sets the mug down heavily in front of Harry, eyes glinting mischievously. It took some time after the war for Draco to even <em>enter </em>her bar, and a lot more time for Rosmerta to forgive him, but Harry knows that there’s a place in Rosmerta’s heart reserved just for Draco now. Five years of friendship will do that to anyone, and especially a friendship with <em>Draco</em>.</p><p>Unfortunately for Harry, though, that means Rosmerta figured out Harry’s feelings for Draco long before Harry himself did. He isn’t sure if she wants to do something for Draco, or has something against Harry, but she always has a comment or a wink up her sleeve anytime they’re together.</p><p>“Draco’s joining us. He should be here shortly,” Neville says, snapping Harry out of his reverie, and Rosmerta’s smirk grows. Harry shifts at the look and takes a long draw of his beer, staring at the table like he’s trying to memorise the pattern of the grain.</p><p>“If that’s the case, maybe I should get the mistletoe going, eh?” Harry chokes on his drink and coughs, and Neville absently pats his back as Rosmerta continues. “I got some of the enchanted sprigs from the Weasley place, the ones that hold both parties in place until they do the deed. I was gonna save it for the Christmas party, but I’m thinking it’d look great hangin’ right above this booth. Whaddya say?” Rosmerta muses, eyes on the beam above Harry’s head, nodding and spreading her hands wide like she’s imagining something grand.</p><p>Harry is still hacking a lung, not recovered from almost dying a minute ago, so Neville takes it upon himself to answer for him. The bastard.</p><p>“I think that’s a great idea,” he says, nodding enthusiastically. Harry glares between coughs. “You have a brilliant mind, Rosmerta. Mind if I take a couple sprigs back to the castle? For completely academic purposes.”</p><p>Rosmerta grins, almost feral, and rubs her hands together. “I like your mind, Zabini. That husband of yours been wearin’ off on you.”</p><p>Harry finally remembers he’s a wizard, reaching into his pocket and silently casting an airway clearing spell on himself, as Neville matches Rosmerta’s grin.</p><p>“N-no! Stop plotting things! No mistletoe!” he cuts in at last, glaring between Rosmerta and Neville. “And certainly not enchanted <em>Weasley </em>mistletoe!”</p><p>“What’s this about no mistletoe? Tsk, where’s your holiday spirit, Harry?” a light voice floats over to their booth, and Harry freezes, eyes going wide. Neville hides his smirk with his hand, and Rosmerta gives Harry a pointed look, as if to say that it’s not too late for the mistletoe.</p><p>Draco appears behind Rosmerta, leaning in for a quick hug. His hair and shoulders are dusted in snowflakes, the tip of his nose pink and cheeks flushed, and Harry’s mouth goes dry. There’s always been something about Draco and the snow that makes his mind stop working, no matter how many times he’s seen it.</p><p>Draco slides into the booth beside Harry. He sits a little too close for comfort, his shoulder brushing against Harry’s. He smells like cold air and bergamot and something Harry can’t pinpoint, and Harry clears his throat. He slowly inches away, biting the inside of his cheek and hoping his discomfort isn’t showing on his face, and Neville stifles a laugh behind his hand.</p><p>“What’s gotten into you?” Draco asks, corners of his lips pulling down as he squints at Harry. “You look... constipated.”</p><p>Rosmerta cackles — <em>cackles</em> — and pats Draco’s shoulder before heading back to the bar, likely to get his usual.</p><p>Harry opens his mouth to reply, not sure what he’s going to say, but Neville interrupts. “Rosmerta was entertaining the idea of putting mistletoe above the booth. Harry was against the idea of kissing you.”</p><p>Harry groans and buries his face in his hands. Is no one on his side today?</p><p>“But you’ve got nothing against kissing Longbottom, Harry? I’m offended. It’s probably for the best, though. You couldn’t handle me,” Draco says with a wink.</p><p>Harry’s stomach does strange things at Draco winking at him, and he pinches the bridge of his nose just to have an excuse to close his eyes.</p><p>“Careful, Draco,” Neville mutters. “You might make his hair grey faster if you keep teasing him like that.”</p><p>Draco laughs too loudly for the joke. Harry sulks for the rest of the afternoon.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Thursday.</p><p>Two days left until Christmas, and one until the faculty party.</p><p>Harry rolls out of bed, Isabelle drags a string into his room, and he dresses in his usual black robes — the morning so far is predictable.</p><p>Once Isabelle leaves him, everything is quiet and empty. He misses the soft sound of her paws pattering on the floor the second she’s gone.</p><p>And it’s that quiet loneliness that makes him pause with his hand on the doorframe before he leaves for breakfast, looking back at his quarters. He looks at the battered sofa by the fire, the mahogany desk on the far end of the room right beside the door to his bedroom, shelves lining the wall next to it, the rickety little table where two people could share breakfast if they wanted to.</p><p>This place isn’t meant to be lived in alone. Every corner of it invites company — for a shared bottle of whisky by the fire, or reading an excerpt from the morning paper out loud at the table, or filling the shelves above the desk with framed photos and potions supplies and books and Sneakoscopes.</p><p>Harry thinks of Draco.</p><p>He thinks of what things would be like if Draco was with him. He can imagine Draco’s hand pushing open the bedroom door, shooting a sly smile over his shoulder as he slips inside, eyes inviting Harry to follow. He can imagine waking up with Draco’s hair splayed out on the pillows.</p><p>Harry’s bed wasn’t made to be slept in alone.</p><p>And so Harry thinks of Draco, and yearns, and wishes, and remembers a million gentle smiles and a thousand glances that have spoken so loud without saying anything Harry can understand.</p><p>Something dawns on him, slowly, a realisation that's been coming on for years, and — maybe, he’s never understood what all those looks have meant, until now. He may not be the best at romance or feelings, but neither is Draco, and something tells him that maybe he’s not the only one who’s been yearning all this time.</p><p>Lips quirked in reluctant amusement, he thinks that maybe he should’ve accepted Rosmerta’s mistletoe — and that Draco might have, if given the chance.</p><p>Harry shuts off the lights in his quarters with a flick of his wand, then makes his way down to the Great Hall as usual. He tries not to look too long at Draco when he sits beside Neville — who gives him a suspicious look, like all of Harry’s thoughts are written on his face. Harry only hopes that his thoughts aren’t obvious to <em>Draco</em>.</p><p>Draco, thankfully, isn’t looking at him. His eyes are focused on Isabelle in his lap, who’s kneading his leg and purring so loudly that Harry can hear it a few feet away. It brings a smile to his face.</p><p>He turns his attention to his breakfast when Neville starts commenting about how big the sausages are today, which he would almost think was supposed to be a joke, if it hadn’t come from <em>Neville’s </em>mouth.</p><p>He spears one on his fork and sniffs it — they <em>are </em>big today — and takes a bite, while Neville takes five points from a Gryffindor student for less than appropriate handlings of their sausage.</p><p>Harry snorts, trying to hide it behind his hand, and evidently fails when the student starts laughing too. Neville elbows his side sharply, muttering something about <em>professors, remember? </em>and <em>you’re just as bad as Blaise, </em>leaving him scowling and rubbing his ribs.</p><p>“Draco, are you working in your lab today?” Neville asks, voice light. Harry leans in curiously for Draco’s response, momentarily taken from his offence at Neville’s scolding.</p><p>“Yes. This batch of Skele-Gro is almost done brewing.” He has a slight smile on his face, and it makes Harry want to smile, too.</p><p>“Did we go through Skele-Gro that quickly this year?” he asks, and Draco nods around his fork.</p><p>“The next batch of Weasley children are at Hogwarts, of course we went through the Skele-Gro,” Neville says with a snort, making Harry and Draco laugh.</p><p>“Are you in the greenhouse today, Nev? I could join you if you need a hand,” Harry asks a few minutes later as the students begin to clear the table.</p><p>“Yup,” Neville replies. “I’ll have to be alone for this, though, so I won’t ask for your help. You know how the mandrakes get at this age. Very picky about the humans they interact with. But I’m sure someone else could use your hands.”</p><p>Harry hums in understanding and finishes off his breakfast. He thinks he knows what Neville is up to — what he’s <em>always </em>up to, since he and Blaise got married and the two of them started <em>conspiring </em>— because it seems that he’s trying to subtly put ideas in Harry’s head. Or maybe even Draco’s.</p><p>“Harry, since you’re not busy, I’d be glad for some help with bottling the Skele-Gro,” Draco says, and Harry’s pulse jumps. Neville tries, and fails, to not smirk, and Harry has half a mind to elbow him the same way <em>he </em>was elbowed earlier.</p><p>“Yeah, okay. I’ll join you,” he says anyway, and Draco smiles at him.</p><p>But at that smile, Harry has never been more grateful for Neville’s meddling.</p><p>They walk to the potions lab together, the world quiet, apart from their footsteps on the stone. They walk through the winding dungeons, most of the portraits on the walls yawning and glaring at them as they pass. They’ve evidently gotten used to sleeping in while classes are out.</p><p>“What’re your plans for Christmas?” Harry asks eventually, and Draco hums. They have this conversation every year with the same responses, but Harry always asks anyway, and Draco always answers.</p><p>“Nothing too much. Just going to visit my mother. What about you?” he responds. His voice is tight, and Harry wonders if his mother is alright, but he doesn’t push Draco on it.</p><p>“Christmas with the Weasleys. <em>All </em>of the Weasleys,” Harry says, laughing at Draco’s horrified expression.</p><p>“How many are there now?” he asks, sounding appalled.</p><p>“I lost count at ten.”</p><p>Draco’s laughter echoes in the dungeons, and Harry’s chest fills with a strange sense of pride.</p><p>They enter Draco’s potions lab a few moments later. Harry purses his lips at the smell. Skele-Gro is <em>definitely </em>being brewed in here.</p><p>Draco rolls up his sleeves, pulling a hair tie from his wrist and holding it with his teeth as he twists his hair into a bun. Harry watches. Once, it would have been hard to look away from Draco’s forearm, but now, it’s hard to look away from his hands deftly twirling his hair.</p><p>Harry clears his throat and looks around the lab, at the shelves of potion tools and vials on one wall, books on the opposite wall, and a spinning rack of ingredients in the corner. They’re things like asphodel and Billywig wings, used often and not needing to be kept in certain temperatures or light. In the center of the room is a large table just for brewing, three cauldrons on it with a low fire.</p><p>With his hair up, that stubborn strand in his face as usual, Draco approaches the table and gestures for Harry to follow. He does, rolling up his own sleeves as he nears the table, listening to the rises and falls of Draco’s voice as he instructs Harry on how to handle the Skele-Gro. It has to be cooled and stabilized magically before put into the bottles.</p><p>It’s different from Pepperup Potions, but not so different that Harry can’t grasp it after watching Draco do it. It requires some concentration and an incantation, and the lab quickly grows hot from the fires and slight magical exertion — and a fair amount of it might also be from being so close to Draco.</p><p>Sweat beads on Draco’s forehead and above his lip, his face flushed rather unpleasantly, and Harry swallows past the lump in his throat, willing himself to focus on the task at hand.</p><p>When they finally finish cooling, stabilizing, and bottling the Skele-Gro, they drop the bottles off in the Hospital Wing together, and Harry finds himself inviting Draco for a cup of tea before lunch.</p><p>They walk slowly back to Harry’s quarters, talking about nothing at all, voices soft and echoey in the empty halls. Soft sunlight streams through the windows, glinting in Draco’s hair and making it look white. Harry loses his train of thought mid-speech when he notices how bright Draco’s eyes look in this lighting.</p><p>“Harry?” Draco's voice is gentle, a little concerned, and Harry swallows roughly. He turns his gaze to the floor.</p><p>“Yeah?” he asks hesitantly.</p><p>“Just making sure you’re alive,” Draco says, the note of concern still in his voice, and Harry breathes a laugh.</p><p>When they arrive at his quarters, Draco sets about making tea with such familiarity that it’s like he lives there. Harry doesn’t keep tea leaves like Draco — and certainly not as much of a variety — but Draco begins to make two cups of black tea without commenting on it.</p><p>There’s a slight draft beneath the door, and Harry builds a fire — both he and Draco get cold easily — and he eases into the armchair with his tea. Draco, surprisingly, sits on the sofa, putting them closer together.</p><p>He draws his legs beneath him, cradling his steaming mug and sinking into the cushions, and Harry worries at his lower lip at the action. He looks so small, curled up that way, and Harry’s chest tightens with affection.</p><p>Merlin, Draco will be the death of him.</p><p>“Why are you looking at me like that?” Draco asks, blushing, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. He rubs the back of his neck bashfully.</p><p>“You’re quiet,” he says. Draco raises an eyebrow, and Harry recognises the look as Draco trying to figure out how to say something. He waits, and takes a small drink of his tea as he does.</p><p>“Do you think mother and I would be welcome at the Burrow?” Draco finally asks, voice soft, not looking at Harry. Harry raises his eyebrows. He wasn’t expecting that.</p><p>“Of course,” he says, and means it. “I’m sure Molly would love to see you both again.”</p><p>The last time they saw each other was at Teddy’s graduation, and only briefly. But Molly already has a soft spot for Draco, after everything her grandchildren have said about him as a teacher — and if Narcissa is anything like Draco, then Harry’s sure that Molly will love her by the end of the night.</p><p>“Is your mother okay?” Harry asks tentatively. Draco’s grip tightens on the handle of his mug.</p><p>“I’ve been worried about her lately. I think she could do well to be around people this Christmas,” he says.</p><p>Harry’s heart twists. He isn’t sure what makes him do it, but he finds himself leaning forward and putting his hand over Draco’s, a thrum running up his arm at the touch. Draco’s eyes widen.</p><p>“You’re always welcome at the Burrow,” Harry says.</p><p>Draco’s answering smile fills every corner of the room with warmth.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. you are my summer,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Friday.</p><p>Christmas Eve has finally arrived, along with the party.</p><p>Harry sits up in bed and rubs his eyes, his cream-coloured blanket pooling around his waist, and he’s pleasantly surprised to see the fire still going from last night — however blurry his vision may be. The House Elves must have remembered his room this morning, for the first time in forever.</p><p>He swings his feet over the side of his bed and stretches, yawning, before he reaches for his glasses on the bedside table. His hand runs over the smooth table — and meets nothing, not even close to brushing the thin metal frames. He frowns and opens the drawer, leaning in closer to try and make something out.</p><p>He can easily make out his few dreamless sleep vials and the Marauder’s Map, the colours stark against the dark wood. The map, especially, has been quite handy as a professor, particularly when Teddy was still a student and in his trouble-making phase. Harry pushes aside the bittersweet reminder that he’s no longer Teddy’s professor, and continues to search for his glasses in the other drawers, and around the floor.</p><p>He eventually tries summoning his glasses, but gets no results from that either, and he slumps with disappointment as he tries to think of where he could possibly have left them.</p><p>He shrugs and decides that he may as well continue on with his day. He doesn’t necessarily <em>need </em>his glasses, considering that he can see floors and walls alright, and what else does he really need to be able to walk?</p><p>After showering and dressing, he steps out of the bathroom to complete silence. He realises that Isabelle evidently won’t visit him with any of Draco’s belongings this morning. No clinking sounds, no soft pattering of her paws on the floor, and no purring.</p><p>Despite the pleasant warmth of the fire, the blurriness of the room and lack of a certain affectionate cat make him feel lonely all over again.</p><p>The rest of the place makes it even worse, though. While his bedroom seems strange without Isabelle, the rest of his quarters are even worse without <em>Draco</em>. Their mugs from the day before are still on the coffee table beside the fireplace — which is full of ashes, now, and Harry shivers at the unexpected cold.</p><p>His loneliness ebbs and flows in his chest, needing something to do with his hands to distract himself from it. Not wanting to go to breakfast like this, he begins to clean his quarters by hand — the way Draco sometimes does when he has something on his mind.</p><p>The mugs are carried to the sink first, the rings on the coffee table get wiped down next, and he simply vanishes the ashes.</p><p>As he does, he thinks of Draco. Long hair, piercing eyes, knowing smiles and shared glances.</p><p>He thinks, and he misses Draco. Together by the fire, pouring a bit of alcohol into empty mugs, voice soft and reaching into every corner of the room to fill it with comfort. Reaching into <em>Harry</em>.</p><p>He thinks, and he misses, and he loves Draco.</p><p>Harry loves Draco.</p><p>It’s the first time he’s admitted it to himself so plainly, and he wonders if he should feel something dramatic after doing so — shocked, maybe, or nervous. But apart from the warmth blossoming in his chest and the continued ever-present longing for Draco, he doesn’t feel any differently.</p><p>After all, he’s said it a million other ways, through little rose gold tins and blankets thrown over lean shoulders when fires start dying.</p><p>And it’s that realisation that makes him wonder what’s stopping him from actually saying something to Draco. From everything Neville and Rosmerta say, and from Harry’s own tentative observations on it, Draco might even feel the same.</p><p>So why can’t he just <em>say </em>it? If he was younger — if he was still dating and knew <em>how </em>to say romantic things — this wouldn’t be a problem. He would just march right up to Draco and say everything on his mind, possibly be even bolder and pull Draco in for a kiss.</p><p>And it doesn’t help that Draco is so <em>Draco</em>, with his smirks and knowing eyes and heart-stopping beauty. How is Harry supposed to deal with those kinds of things?</p><p>He supposes, though, that if Draco wasn’t Draco, then Harry wouldn’t be in the situation to begin with. He smiles at the thought, and leaves his half-cleaned-up quarters in favour of eating breakfast.</p><p>The walk to the Great Hall feels different without glasses. It reminds Harry of when he was a student and his prescription was too weak. It’s a strange, unwelcome sense of deja vu, but he’s shaken from it when he sees a familiar — albeit fuzzy — blond by the open doors of the Great Hall.</p><p>As Harry nears and stops next to Draco, he shifts his stance to match Harry’s, and the action makes his heart flutter a bit. He has to resist invading Draco’s personal space to see the expression on his face.</p><p>“Isabelle brought me something interesting this morning,” Draco starts, always skipping right over greetings. “I think she got bored of taking <em>my </em>things, for once.”</p><p>Harry raises his eyebrows amusedly. So <em>that’s </em>where his glasses went. Figures.</p><p>“Good morning to you too. And yes, I think she did too. Now I know how it feels,” Harry jokes, and Draco scoffs. Harry smirks — he knows the story Draco is going to bring up. He could never forget it.</p><p>“Oh no, you wait until she nicks your pants,” Draco replies. There’s a faint note of embarrassment in his voice. “And <em>then </em>you’ll get to say that you know how it feels.”</p><p>Harry laughs, the image of Isabelle dragging Draco’s pants into his room still ingrained in his mind. Having to return those to Draco was the highlight of Harry’s month.</p><p><em>“You know, I never took you for a boxers kind of guy,” </em>Harry had said when he returned them to a bright red, scowling Draco, who’d promptly told Harry to fuck off. They weren’t exactly on great terms then, but the memory amuses him.</p><p>They begin to slowly walk into the hall together as Harry smiles. “I’m surprised she didn’t do it again, honestly.”</p><p>Draco practically <em>snorts </em>at that. “I keep my drawers locked now. Are you disappointed?”</p><p>Harry clears his throat. “A little.”</p><p>Draco falls silent at that, and Harry wishes he could see Draco’s expression clearer, worried he said something he shouldn’t have. The space between them feels like a chasm.</p><p>“Harry, where are your glasses?” Neville asks as they approach the table. Harry feels the eyes of a few of the students turn to him. Their stares usually don’t bother him, but today, he feels bashful under their gazes.</p><p>“Oh, right,” Draco says. “Isabelle took them.”</p><p>Harry almost forgot about the fact that Draco has his glasses. The blond pulls them from his pocket and holds them out to Harry. He takes them with a muttered “<em>thanks</em>.”</p><p>Their fingers brush, and Harry’s skin burns from it. The touch is gentle but undeniably there, and it almost makes Harry shiver before he gets control of himself. He puts his glasses on and blinks as Draco comes into focus. He’s surprised to see that Draco’s cheeks and ears are flushed.</p><p>Draco clears his throat and sits on the other side of Neville, loading his plate with the food nearest to him — things that Harry has <em>never </em>seen him eat — and Neville’s eyebrows are high when Harry sits beside him.</p><p>“What did you do to poor Draco?” Neville mutters, and Harry laughs, but he’s a little concerned, once Draco takes a spoonful of porridge that he didn’t even add any sugar to.</p><p>“I have… no idea,” Harry replies slowly. Neville shakes his head and turns to his own breakfast, his lips quirked.</p><p>After breakfast, Harry retreats to his quarters, realising he hasn’t wrapped Draco’s gift yet. He does his best job at it — which isn’t very good, but it’s something — and does some more cleaning until it’s time to get ready for the party.</p><p>He changes into something a little less comfortable, something Hermione picked out for him years ago and doesn’t quite fit anymore, and goes to meet Neville and Draco by the Great Hall as they do every year.</p><p>Harry stops in his tracks when he sees Draco, wearing blue and silver robes, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. They’re patterned with snowflakes, the cut accentuating the taper of his shoulders down to his waist and… <em>lower</em>. Harry mentally berates himself for looking, and turns his gaze up. Draco’s hair is tied in an elegantly braided bun, full lips painted pink, eyelids shimmery and blue.</p><p>Harry’s mouth goes dry. Draco doesn’t usually dress this nicely for the faculty party. In fact, it’s been a very long time since Draco has worn anything that’s not black.</p><p>Neville clears his throat, and Harry realises he’s been staring. He tears his eyes away and thanks Merlin that no one can tell when he’s blushing, because he can feel Draco’s eyes on him.</p><p>“Draco looks nice, don’t you think?” Neville asks with a smirk. Harry wants to scowl at him, and just barely refrains.</p><p>“Yeah,” Harry agrees softly, pointedly avoiding meeting Draco’s eyes.</p><p>“No hello?” Draco asks as they start walking to the faculty room. Harry raises his eyebrows and finally looks at Draco, heart stuttering as he does.</p><p>“<em>You </em>never say hello,” he points out, and Draco bats his hand absently. Harry’s eyes are glued to his fingers.</p><p>“Yes, yes, but <em>you </em>do,” he replies, and Harry’s stomach flips.</p><p>He finds himself unable to reply as they walk to the second floor, eyes trained on Draco’s neck and wandering places they shouldn’t be, mentally scolding himself every time they do. Neville, thankfully, picks up a conversation with Draco himself.</p><p>As they approach the faculty room, Harry falls a bit further behind Draco, biting his lip as he looks between the mistletoe in the doorway and the back of Draco’s head. He almost grasps Draco’s wrist to stop him beneath the mistletoe, fingers itching to just reach out and <em>do it </em> — but he hesitates, and his hand falls back at his side.</p><p>Neville sighs audibly beside him, patting his back as he walks by.</p><p>“You’ve got another shot when he leaves the room, at least,” he says, and Harry grimaces.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says weakly. Both he and Neville know that he won’t stop Draco under the mistletoe.</p><p>In the faculty room, the large table and chairs have been turned into sofas and coffee tables, pushed to the sides of the room. A large fire is going, snow falls from the ceiling, a Christmas tree in the corner to put the presents under. Enchanted, wooden mice chase each other through the air.</p><p>The afternoon passes slowly, and Harry resists the urge to duck out of the party. The gifts pile up on the table, most of them small and seeming to also be wrapped by magic. He nurses a glass of gin, which was something Neville brought at Blaise’s insistence, and makes conversation with the other professors when he can.</p><p>Sinistra and Hooch, who got married last year shortly after Blaise and Neville, and have a lot to say about Ginny joining the Holyhead Harpies. He never suspected that Sinistra is a huge Quidditch fan, but he meets her enthusiastically when she starts talking about how Ginny’s form only gets better every year.</p><p>Cuthbert, who falls asleep mid-conversation in an armchair by the fire, and Harry has the dreadful suspicion that it might even be the armchair he died in. The thought makes him so uncomfortable that he’s relieved when Binns falls asleep, slipping over to the refreshments table for a snack.</p><p>Firenze, who keeps tugging on his ugly Christmas tie, muttering about how there’s no good cheese at this year’s party. Harry has to agree with him — last year had a large variety, but this year there are more baked goods than cheeses. It’s a shame, really.</p><p>Minerva, who’s three drinks deep already. She’s flushed, and her eyes are a little glassy, but otherwise, she holds herself pretty well. She keeps trying to nudge Harry in Draco’s direction, and Draco notices almost as soon as she starts doing it, so Harry makes his escape quickly.</p><p>And <em>Draco… </em>Merlin, Draco. Harry can barely even get a proper sentence out around him. His cheeks are flushed, eyes practically burning beneath long eyelashes, voice low, standing close to Harry.</p><p>Harry has no idea what it is, or what caused it, but Draco just seems <em>different</em>. Intense. He almost seems like he’s longing, if Harry’s being hopeful.</p><p>After what feels like hours of struggling to hold a conversation with Draco, Filius finally gives up trying to get names out of people (Cuthbert, as he does every year, is the only one who broke) and deems it an appropriate time for gifts.</p><p>They all find their gifts under the tree. Neville and Draco gravitate towards each other after getting them. Harry’s is quill-shaped and wrapped in red paper, Neville’s is leaking, squirming, and pungent… and Harry eyes Draco nervously.</p><p>He distracts himself by opening his present. It is indeed a quill — the feather reminding him of Hedwig, and he smiles a bit — and based on Neville’s embarrassed grin, it’s obvious that Neville was his gifter the entire time.</p><p>“A quill, Nev? A <em>quill</em>?” he jokes, nudging his friend’s arm, and Neville laughs bashfully. Harry adds softly, “Thank you, Nev.”</p><p>Neville gives him a gentle smile before going to open his own gift, which has stopped squirming as much. Draco and Harry watch in gross fascination as Neville peels back the paper. It turns out to be a Mimbulus Mimbletonia sapling, and Neville’s face lights up with joy, while both Draco and Harry take a good few steps back. They’re all too aware of how explosive and disgustingly sticky the plant can be.</p><p>Harry looks at the other professors as Draco starts to tear open the paper, spotting Firenze immediately. He seems delighted in receiving a bad tie, putting it on over the one he’s already wearing, and Harry laughs. Minerva is wearing a new hat, Filius is cracking open a watercolour pan, Sinistra and Hooch have disappeared — Harry can guess where to — and Cuthbert is still asleep with a wrapped package beside him.</p><p>Harry feels a pair of eyes on him, and looks up to meet Draco’s eyes, holding the tin of tea leaves. His stare, intense and weighted, leaves Harry breathless, and the grin falls off his face. He swallows past the lump in his throat.</p><p>“Thank you,” Draco says sincerely, and Harry sucks in a breath.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Harry whispers. It’s only then that Harry realises how close they are to the mistletoe. He swallows thickly, excusing himself from the party, and ignores Draco’s questioning looks.</p><p>In his quarters, he takes a long, cold shower and busies himself with cleaning to get his mind off of Draco.</p><p>Well into the evening, after taking dinner in his room and changing into his pajamas, Draco knocks on his door. Because of course he does. Harry stares at him when he answers the door, afraid that he might actually be gaping. Draco is still wearing his robes, lips pink.</p><p>Harry licks his lips and turns his eyes to Draco’s forehead.</p><p>Draco holds the Earl Grey up and quirks his eyebrow in a silent question, and Harry’s lips twitch. He steps back and opens the door further in invitation.</p><p>Draco smirks and walks into the room, hand coming to rest on Harry’s shoulder for just a moment as he passes, and Harry sucks in a breath and shuts his eyes. He smells like bergamot and gin.</p><p>Draco goes straight for the small sink and kettle in the corner, and it’s a few moments before Harry remembers to close the door. He sits in the armchair by the fire, back to Draco, listening to him rummage around the cupboards, and the kettle whistle, and metal clink against glass.</p><p>He listens, and wonders what’s gotten into Draco.</p><p>Draco sits in the opposite chair when the tea is brewed. He stares at the fire, sipping his tea every once in a while, and Harry gets the impression he isn’t in a talking mood. Harry is happy to provide quiet company.</p><p>So Harry watches Draco.</p><p>Draco pulls his hair out of the bun, falling in a messy braid over his shoulder.</p><p>Draco wipes his lipstick off with a napkin.</p><p>Draco glances at Harry.</p><p>The fire casts shadows over Draco’s face, throws his eyes into darkness, and Harry wishes he could see them. But then again, he’s not sure he could handle whatever look is in them right now.</p><p>At some point, it becomes them watching each other, pretending to watch the fire and allowing each other to stare without saying anything — and they are content in it. Harry isn’t sure how much time he spends glancing between Draco’s crossed feet and his face, but he eventually looks up to find the fire dying and his cup drained.</p><p>He opens his mouth to ask if Draco wants another cup, but the words die in his mouth when he sees that Draco is asleep, chin resting on his hand. Warmth floods through Harry at the sight, and the simple fact that Draco could even fall asleep like that in front of <em>Harry</em>.</p><p><em>Merlin</em>, he loves this man.</p><p>He stands and collects their cups as quietly as possible — Draco’s has pink lipstick rings on it, and Harry inexplicably wants to keep them — and builds the fire again. He throws a blanket over Draco’s shoulders, one Molly knitted, knowing Draco would hate it.</p><p>Unable to resist, Harry hesitantly tucks a loose strand of hair behind Draco’s ear, hand lingering. In his sleep, he turns his cheek into Harry’s palm.</p><p>Harry falls asleep easily tonight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. and now I'm just keeping you warm.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saturday. Christmas morning.</p><p>Harry stumbles out of bed, almost tripping in his eagerness to peer from his bedroom to see if Draco is still there. He doesn’t expect him to be, really, but he’s hopeful. It’s not even sunrise yet — so the entire place is dark — but when Harry pokes his head through his door, he can see Draco’s dark form curled on the sofa.</p><p>It’s too early and he’s too tired to have emotions, but Harry softens so much he’s afraid he might actually have to hold himself up using the doorway.</p><p>Because Draco stayed. He moved to the sofa, and he <em>stayed</em>. They slept with only a wall between them.</p><p>Harry looks for only a bit longer, before he retreats into his bedroom to get a couple more hours of sleep in. It’s too early for anything at all, but especially pining — he can do that when he’s rested.</p><p>He’s woken later by a sharp knock, and he jerks awake, grumbling and reaching for his glasses. He staggers to his door, pulls it open, and blinks — Draco is waiting for him, eyeing him judgmentally, and Harry looks down at his crumpled snitch-themed pajamas.</p><p>He rubs the back of his neck bashfully. Draco has obviously showered and dressed, wearing a simple black traveling cloak with his hair in a braid. He looks elegant and put-together, and Harry’s heart stutters.</p><p>“Are those snitches?” Draco asks, squinting, and Harry rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Draco, I’ve seen your pants — I know what’s on them. So you can’t even <em>say </em>anything about my pajamas,” he says, and Draco blushes at the reminder.</p><p>“Nevermind the pants. It’s almost noon, you know,” he says, and Harry gawks. <em>Noon</em>? How?</p><p>“What? We were supposed to be at the Burrow an hour ago!” Harry says, turning on his heels and throwing open his closet to find something decent to wear. He starts rummaging around, before Draco’s hand on his wrist stops him, and he swallows thickly.</p><p>“You go shower, and I’ll find you something to wear. You’ll pick something atrocious otherwise,” Draco says, and Harry almost wants to argue, but he knows Draco is right. Hermione makes a comment every year about how Harry still can’t be trusted to dress himself.</p><p>He showers as quickly as possible, exiting the bathroom in a towel to find the door closed and a set of robes spread on the now-made bed. They’re deep green in colour, the trim similar to Draco’s the night before. Harry eyes them suspiciously. He swears he’s never even <em>seen </em>them before, but he puts them on anyway, and emerges from his bedroom to find Draco waiting by the fireplace with the jar of Floo powder.</p><p>“You look nice,” he says. “Very spiffy.”</p><p>Harry laughs, somehow loving Draco even more for that. “Please never say that again.”</p><p>Draco breathes a laugh and holds the jar out to Harry, and he takes a pinch of the powder before stepping into the fireplace.</p><p>Floo travel goes as it always does for him — poorly — and he steps out of the grate to a very hectic scene.</p><p>He immediately spots Hugo and Rose chasing Teddy, who’s holding something just out of their reach. Percy, trying to get someone’s toddler (whose child is that?) out of the Christmas tree without injuring her. Fred and George, playing Exploding Snap with Fred’s partner and cheering loudly. Fleur yelling at Victoire in the hall for “inappropriate behaviour.” Charlie and Ginny arm-wrestle in the corner, money on the table between them.</p><p>Harry smiles, even as he suspects that he’s going to end the night with a terrible headache. There’s no place like the Burrow.</p><p>He says hello to everyone who notices that he’s there, offering hugs where they’re wanted and helping Percy get the toddler off of the tree (he still doesn't know whose child it is). Draco sidles up beside him by the time he’s gotten to saying hello to Fleur, eyes wide and soot on his robes that he evidently couldn’t get off with all the commotion, and Harry’s heart skips a beat.</p><p>“Holy shit,” Draco mutters. “Is it like this all the time?”</p><p>Harry laughs. “When everyone is here, yes. Let’s go to the kitchen. It’s usually quieter there.”</p><p>They walk down the hall, past Teddy, who’s been cornered by Hugo and Rose — Harry gives Teddy a pointed look, as if to say to just give up whatever he took from them, and Teddy’s hair turns red.</p><p>As they near the kitchen, the yelling and playful shouts get quieter, replaced by soft, calm voices and the smell of a Christmas lunch.</p><p>They round the corner, and Harry softens when he sees Hermione reading in the armchair by the fire, Ron and Bill cooking — and to his surprise, Molly, talking with Narcissa Malfoy by the window. He didn’t know she was already here.</p><p>“Mother,” Draco says, just as Ron says, “Harry!”</p><p>Harry grins, leaving Draco to greet his mother as he hugs Ron, taking care not to touch his dough-covered hands.</p><p>“Happy Christmas, Ron.”</p><p>“Happy Christmas. Merlin. It feels like it’s been years, mate,” Ron says, chin grazing the top of Harry’s head as he speaks, and Harry steps away to avoid the sensation.</p><p>“No hugs for me?” Bill jokes from behind Ron, and Harry laughs, going in to hug Bill, too.</p><p>“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Hermione says, not moving from the armchair or looking up from her book, but there’s a smile on her face.</p><p>Merlin, he’s missed them all.</p><p>He looks across the room to see Molly fussing over a very red Draco, brushing the soot off his robes while Narcissa greets Draco with a fond smile. Harry’s heart tightens at the scene. It’s almost like Narcissa and Draco have fallen right in with the Weasleys, without any preparation needed, and Harry wonders if Molly and Narcissa have kept up some sort of correspondence. It’s hard to believe they get along so well.</p><p>“Where’s Arthur?” Harry asks curiously.</p><p>“In his shed. ‘Last-minute Christmas presents’, he said,” Ron says, nodding his head in Narcissa and Draco’s direction. Harry hums in understanding.</p><p>“What’s with the robes? You never wear anything like this,” Hermione says, peering over her book and eyeing him appreciatively. Harry clears his throat.</p><p>“Draco picked them out,” he mutters in embarrassment, and Ron bursts out laughing.</p><p>“Merlin’s balls, Harry, he’s dressing you now? And you haven’t even kissed?” Ron says, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, and Harry punches his arm.</p><p>“Well, Ronald, I was dressing you long before <em>we </em>ever kissed, if you’ll recall,” Hermione cuts in smoothly, not looking up from her book, and Ron’s ears turn bright red. Harry laughs, Bill snickers — obviously having listened to their conversation, which is a little embarrassing — and Hermione stifles her chuckle behind her hand.</p><p>“I’ve missed you,” Harry says, laughter fading.</p><p>“We’ve missed you too, mate,” Ron says sincerely, eyebrows furrowed a bit. Hermione sets aside her book, slipping her bookmark in before turning to face Harry, eyes curious. It’s the same look she gets when a theory is turning in her mind.</p><p>“I’m sorry I don’t firecall more. I’ve been meaning to, but it just slipped my mind.” Ron and Hermione share a look, and Harry fidgets nervously — he recognises that look. It’s <em>The Look,</em> the same one Neville and Blaise share whenever they’re about to do their meddling things.</p><p>“It’s alright, mate,” Ron says sympathetically, going back to kneading the dough with Bill, and Harry worries his lip.</p><p>“I’d forget too,” Hermione starts, “if I was lonely and pining and wasting all my chances to correct that.”</p><p>“Hermione!” Harry groans, hiding his face behind his hands. “That was harsh.”</p><p>“It was <em>true</em>,” she corrects, turning back to her book. She’s said all she needed to say.</p><p>“That <em>was </em>a little harsh, ‘Mione,” Ron agrees, and Hermione raises her eyebrows incredulously. Ron immediately goes back to kneading the dough, clearing his throat. “Sorry mate, you’re on your own.”</p><p>Harry laughs weakly. “I’ve been abandoned.”</p><p>“That should give you more time to think about what I said,” Hermione says, and Harry sighs.</p><p>What she said <em>was </em>true, and the words stick with him the rest of the day. He watches Draco and Narcissa most of the night, fitting right in with the Weasleys. The younger ones, especially, love Narcissa — probably because Draco is their professor, so that makes him less cool to talk to, and it’s likely that Rose is digging for embarrassing stories about Draco.</p><p>Oddly, the twins take to Draco very quickly, the three of them talking in low voices all throughout lunch. Harry watches them fondly.</p><p>Well into the evening, once lunch has been eaten and dinner is prepared, the beginnings of a headache creeps up on Harry, and he retreats to the garden. He sits on the porch steps, casting warming charms to melt the snow, and relishes the quiet.</p><p>The Burrow’s garden is one of Harry’s favourite places to be. It’s full of life and the touches of family. Even in winter, buried in the snow, the plants are tall and green and beautiful. It’s as messy and random as ever, and Harry loves it. Near the thicker bushes are dozens of sets of footprints — evidently, the garden gnomes still love the garden, too.</p><p>Harry’s thoughts turn to Draco, and Narcissa, and how easily they fall in with the Weasleys, like they’ve been there all along. Two of Harry’s worlds are meeting, fusing, and he’s not quite sure how to take it.</p><p>The door opens, and he’s pulled from his thoughts as he turns to see Draco stepping onto the porch, wrapping his robes tighter.</p><p>“I thought you might be out here,” Draco says softly. Harry’s heart leaps. <em>Draco was looking for him. </em>“I just escaped.”</p><p>Harry’s lip quirks. “From?”</p><p>“Ginevra,” Draco says, sitting on the step beside Harry, their shoulders touching. “She was intent on informing me of what would happen if I ever hurt you.”</p><p>Harry puts his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I think they’ve gotten the wrong idea. What did she say?”</p><p>“I’d rather not repeat that,” Draco says, a flush on his cheeks, and Harry laughs. He can only imagine what she said — she can get pretty vulgar.</p><p>“Well, what do you say back?”</p><p>“That I’d never hurt you,” Draco mutters. Harry swallows past the lump in his throat. His heart races.</p><p>“Oh,” he says, looking down at his lap. He doesn’t know what to say.</p><p>So, as he always does, he watches Draco. It would be simple to say that he fell for Draco because of his looks — the curve of his neck as he turns his gaze towards the sky, the snowflakes on his eyelashes, or his too-pointy chin and nose.</p><p>But in the quiet, with nothing between them except the air, Harry loves Draco for the sound of his breathing. Steady, soft. For the way his fingers inch towards Harry’s, but never touch. For the way he might be listening to Harry breathe, too.</p><p>And Harry has never loved Draco more.</p><p>-x-</p><p>New Year’s Eve.</p><p>Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is bursting with life, even more so than usual. All three floors of the shop have been rearranged to allow the maximum amount of people and games in. The shelves and products are no longer in sight — Merlin knows where they went — and all that remains are a few tables here and there filled with alcohol and food.</p><p>It’s been a while since Harry’s been to the store. It seems to grow every time he sees it, and he’s proud of the twins for getting so far.</p><p>He doesn’t usually attend the twins’ New Year’s parties just because of how many people usually go, but Blaise and Neville managed to drag him along this year. It helps that Draco also agreed, though if he’s honest, Draco is the <em>only </em>reason Harry is there.</p><p>Usually, he spends New Year’s Eve at the Burrow — or, more often, already asleep.</p><p>Harry waits just inside the store for Draco, Neville, and Blaise to show up, wanting to avoid the snow beginning to fall outside. Neville and Blaise appear first, holding hands, and Harry tries not to feel jealous of how openly affectionate they are.</p><p>Shortly after, Neville goes to find Fred and George before the party gets even louder and more full, leaving Harry with Blaise.</p><p>Harry likes Blaise. He’s funny, he cares about Neville, and he’s generally nice when he’s not conspiring. But being left alone with him makes Harry nervous, because he’s <em>usually </em>conspiring.</p><p>Blaise gives Harry a once-over without saying hello — maybe it’s a Slytherin thing? — squinting and looking like he can somehow read Harry’s every thought. Harry shifts uncomfortably.</p><p>“Blaise,” he greets, inclining his head. “How’ve you been? How’s the gin?”</p><p>Blaise hums, glancing to see if Neville is gone before he pulls a cigarette from his coat and ducks outside, Harry following. “I’m doing great, thanks. How about you? I take it Draco still hasn’t shagged you, then?”</p><p>Harry splutters, not sure how he should even <em>reply </em>to that, and Blaise smirks at something over Harry’s shoulder as he lights the cigarette.</p><p>“Blaise, what?” a light voice comes from behind Harry, and he freezes. <em>How </em>does Draco always do this?</p><p>Draco stops beside Harry, looking questioningly at Blaise, nose pink. He crosses his arms and frowns. Harry swallows nervously.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure Harry can explain,” Blaise says, smirk growing.</p><p>“Explain why you’re smoking?” Draco says, an accusing note in his voice, and Harry relaxes marginally — so Draco <em>didn’t </em>hear the whole shagging thing. “I thought you quit.”</p><p>Blaise winces and drops the cigarette reluctantly, stomping it out in the snow. “I hate you sometimes, you know that?”</p><p>Draco’s reply is lost on Harry, because he’s too busy realising that Draco is wearing a grey Weasley sweater, the <em>D </em>knitted in green. And, oh Merlin, does Draco look good in it, with his hair in a braided bun and the same pink lipstick on from Christmas Eve.</p><p>When did Molly knit that for him? Why did she? Does Narcissa have one too? The questions fly around Harry’s head, but they go completely out the window when Draco turns to him and smiles.</p><p>“Right, Harry?” he says, and Harry raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Err, right, yeah,” he says, and he’s saved from pretending to know what he’s agreed to by Neville, who pulls them back inside and sends Harry and Draco off in the twins’ direction to say hello.</p><p>As they weave through the steadily growing crowd of people, Draco grabs hold of Harry’s elbow to stay with him, and Harry’s skin heats at the contact. Draco’s fingers are warm, his grip light, but Harry is aware of it the entire time he’s holding onto his elbow.</p><p>Before they can even reach the stairs, people begin to take notice of Harry, falling silent around him — though the whispers grow with every second. And then the jostling and <em>“Harry Potter? Harry Potter!”</em> begins, as people try to get closer to him, to see his scar or say hello or shake his hand.</p><p>Fucking hell.</p><p>It’s been so long since he’s been out in Diagon Alley that he’s forgotten that everyone <em>else </em>hasn’t forgotten his name. He has half a mind to duck back out of the store and sleep through the New Year, but that would leave Draco alone, and <em>Harry </em>alone, so he doesn’t.</p><p>“Harry,” Draco says in his ear. “What do we do?”</p><p>“Er,” Harry starts. It’s not like he can just dip under his invisibility cloak anymore.</p><p>But just then, the twins’ voices sounds over the speakers, the music on pause: “A brand-new, unreleased flavour of Weasley-Zabini gin has been added to the floor —”</p><p>“—so get it before it’s gone, folks!”</p><p>Harry shares a relieved look with Draco as the people disperse, either to rush to the alcohol or taking the hint. Harry silently thanks the twins. He really thought people would be over him by now.</p><p>They find the twins where Neville said they were, overlooking the first floor and making sure nobody is dying or getting too handsy. But the night is young, and there’ll be opportunities for that later, Harry supposes.</p><p>“Harry! Ferret-face!” Fred greets, throwing his arms wide. George rolls his eyes, and Draco scowls when Harry laughs at the name.</p><p>“Enjoying the party so far?” George asks, side-stepping his twin to clap Draco on the back. Draco quirks on eyebrow and shrugs off the touch, and George just grins.</p><p>“There are more people here than I was expecting from you two,” Draco says shortly. Fred and George share a look.</p><p>“There’s a compliment in there somewhere,” Fred replies after a moment, and Draco smirks.</p><p>“By the way, thanks for the rescue back there,” Harry cuts in. Fred’s getting that <em>look </em>in his eyes that Harry knows all too well not to trust. He feels an inexplicable need to drag Draco away from the twins before it’s too late. “I know that wasn’t a coincidence.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it,” George says, waving it off and glancing at Fred. Harry sighs, resigning himself to whatever it is the twins are planning.</p><p>“You should come with us, Ferret-face,” Fred says, draping an arm over Draco’s shoulder, who grumbles at the touch.</p><p>“You won’t regret it,” George adds, throwing his arm over his twin’s. Draco grumbles more, and Harry sighs again, ignoring the flare of jealousy in his chest.</p><p>“What’re we doing?” Draco asks curiously.</p><p>“Oh, a couple of games—”</p><p>“—that’s all.”</p><p>Draco glances over his shoulder as the twins whisk him away, mouthing a <em>“sorry,”</em> and Harry waves lamely at his back.</p><p>It’s stupid to be jealous, he tells himself. Draco will be fine — he’ll probably enjoy whatever it is Fred and George have planned — and Harry will be just as fine, thank you very much. He has Neville and Blaise for company, at least.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Harry does not have Neville and Blaise for company.</p><p>He doesn’t want to admit he’s sulking, but he most definitely is. With Draco dragged off by the twins to do who-knows-what, he’s left to his own devices. (Which really just means he’s taken shelter by the food, and trying to hide his face as more people get word that he’s there.)</p><p>He’s reminded that part of the reason he became a teacher was to get away from the curious eyes of the public. He’d much rather have teenagers gossip about him with their friends than journalists write terribly invasive articles about his love life.</p><p>He’ll probably wind up in the <em>Daily Prophet </em>tomorrow — Draco might even, too, because they showed up together. How likely is it that someone got a picture of him holding onto Harry’s elbow?</p><p>He really hasn’t had enough to drink to process this.</p><p>He goes to pour himself more whisky, and spots a familiar blonde vigorously mixing herself a drink. He raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Harry!” Rosmerta says when she spots him, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. “Thought I heard something about you being here.”</p><p>Harry winces — of course she heard — and goes to stand beside her, staring at the self-filling, hopefully unbreakable glass tumblers, at a loss. Where are the labels?</p><p>“I didn’t expect to see you here, Rosmerta. The pub closed?” Harry asks. He expected Rosmerta to keep it open as usual. Rosmerta winks as she pours something in Harry’s glass. He shrugs. He may as well take it.</p><p>“Nope,” she chirps, “Perk of owning the place is that I can take all the time I want off.”</p><p>Harry laughs. He really does admire how she lives life the way she wants to. She seems to take it to the fullest.</p><p>“Blondie here?” Rosmerta asks, swirling her glass, the ice clinking.</p><p>“Yeah. The twins pulled him away,” Harry says with a slight frown, taking a sip of his — whisky? Scotch? He doesn’t drink enough to know the difference, and neither are really his cup of tea, anyway.</p><p>“Careful, love, that almost sounds bitter,” Rosmerta says, and he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.</p><p>“You find him before midnight, though, and I’m sure you won’t be anymore,” she adds. Harry’s skin heats.</p><p>“We’ll see,” he says vaguely, and Rosmerta shrugs, knocking back the rest of her drink.</p><p>“That’s all up to you,” she says, eyes widening as the drink hits her. “You know that boy’s pride will stop him from saying anything first.”</p><p>Harry puts down his drink when Rosmerta glances away, hoping she won’t notice, and worries at his bottom lip. There’s some truth to what she said, but the nerves hit him at the thought of even <em>trying </em>to confess anything to Draco.</p><p>“How’d you end up in Gryffindor, huh?” Rosmerta asks, squinting at him, and Harry splutters. “You better suck it up if you ever wanna make something between you two. From here on out, you’ll be gettin’ no more help from me. That’s my New Year’s resolution.”</p><p>She punctuates the sentence with a pointed finger and promptly walks away, leaving Harry to gape at her back.</p><p>Alone yet again and sticking to the shadows, Harry locates the nearest table of food. His stomach growls at the sight and smell of everything. There’s a slice of treacle tart with his name on it.</p><p>It reminds him distinctly of Molly’s cooking, and he wonders if she could have helped make it — or maybe Ron, who’s taken baking up recently. He’ll have to ask him tomorrow. There’s no doubt that he’s with his kids tonight.</p><p>After the treacle tart comes a decent amount of water and cheese — probably <em>too </em>much cheese — and Harry thinks of Firenze as he eats. He’d appreciate the selection the twins have provided.</p><p>Harry finds a chair after that, and takes to people watching. Rosmerta appears every once in a while, giving him pointed glances. A few couples get a little too handsy — George usually handles them. Surprisingly, only a few people take any great, drunken risks. He wonders if it’s a bad thing that he’s disappointed.</p><p>Probably.</p><p>Harry sighs heavily, pitying himself for just a moment. He wishes he had tea.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Twenty minutes to midnight.</p><p>Harry feels something shift in his chest — <em>this is his chance</em> — so he makes his way through the crowd to the winding staircase, trying to find a familiar blond head.</p><p>“Looking for the pointy blond one?” someone asks in his ear, and Harry jumps, turning to see George leaning against the railing and smirking.</p><p>“Pointy blond one? That’s nicer than usual.” George snorts. “Have you seen him?”</p><p>George points towards the ceiling with a lopsided grin. “All the way up.”</p><p>Harry thanks him, resigning himself to walking up three flights of stairs, before George adds: “You might want to pop a mint in before you find him, mate.”</p><p>Harry rolls his eyes and flips George off as he climbs the steps, the redhead’s laughter following him up. When he’s out of George’s sight, though, he casts a few freshening charms on himself in embarrassment. It’s entirely possible George was pulling his leg — but it’s equally likely that he wasn’t. He’d rather not take that risk.</p><p>He makes his way up the spiraling stairs, trying not to knock into anyone as he does, and he’s breathless when he finally reaches the roof. He’s surprised to see that it’s only a balcony overlooking Diagon Alley, the railing wrapping around the small tower of the shop.</p><p>A breeze rustles Harry’s hair. Shouts and laughter float up from below. He walks around the balcony, leaning close to the building and wondering if Draco isn’t up here after all, but then he sees him, and Harry’s thoughts are carried off with the wind.</p><p>Because Draco — <em>Merlin </em>— Draco is beautiful. Hair mussed, falling out of the bun, the strands blowing against his neck in the breeze.</p><p>“Hi.” Harry’s suddenly nervous. Draco turns, smiling when he sees Harry.</p><p>“Harry. Hi,” Draco greets. Harry freezes, eyes widening.</p><p>“You said hello,” he says in awe, and Draco stares at him in confusion, before he begins to laugh.</p><p>“You’re an idiot, you know that?”</p><p>The sound of Draco’s laughter makes his heart flip. He doesn’t know what makes him say it, but the words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them.</p><p>“I know. I love you.”</p><p>Draco’s eyes go wide, laughter dying immediately, and Harry looks away, mortified that he just said that.</p><p>“<em>Harry</em>,” Draco whispers, hand coming up to cusp Harry’s cheek. Harry goes breathless, leaning into the touch and reaching up to put his hand over Draco’s. Oh, Merlin. “I was beginning to think I’d have to say it first, you git.”</p><p>Harry laughs, heart bursting with warmth and joy and <em>love</em>.</p><p>Because Draco loves Harry, too.</p><p>-x-</p><p>They’re silent for some time, content with not speaking, their fingers interlocked and moving to grip the railing between them. Their hands say everything they need to.</p><p>
  <em>I love you. I love you.</em>
</p><p>Below them, Diagon Alley fills with even more people, shouting and laughing, the sound carrying up to them. At some point, they begin to count down — <em>ten, nine, eight</em> — and Harry shares a look of surprise with Draco.</p><p>The fireworks begin at six. <em>Hiss! Crack! Crack!</em></p><p>Draco’s face is illuminated by the bursting lights — his pale skin tinted red, purple, blue, green, yellow — and Harry watches the colours shift.</p><p>He feels the weight of Draco’s heavy stare back on him, and with his heart pounding, meets Draco’s eyes. Watches Draco’s gaze flit down to his lips.</p><p>
  <em>Five! Four!</em>
</p><p>“Harry?” Draco whispers, his voice catching over the <em>y</em>. It sounds like he’s asking permission.</p><p>
  <em>Three! Two!</em>
</p><p>And Harry wants — he <em>wants </em>— so he leans into Draco, tilts his head, and Draco meets him halfway.</p><p>
  <em>One! </em>
</p><p>Their lips brush. Draco’s short breaths come quick over Harry’s cheek. Until — <em>finally </em>— Draco’s arms wind around Harry’s neck and he presses his lips fully against Harry’s, pulling him in so closely their bodies are pressed together. It’s warm and full and <em>Merlin</em>.</p><p>Harry’s hands wind in Draco’s hair as he tastes him — bitter like amaro and bergamot. Harry hums into the kiss, a moment passing before the corners of Draco’s lips twitch. He starts laughing — and Harry can’t help but join him.</p><p>They cling to each other, laughing, as the fireworks burst all around them.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Harry and Draco are often alone together. But up here, overlooking all of Diagon Alley as Draco’s arms wind around Harry’s shoulders, it feels like this is the first time they’ve been truly alone together.</p><p>Somehow, though, it’s almost strange how easy it is to do this. To hold each other, and so readily admit their feelings. It must be because they were both waiting for so long, but it’s almost as if they were always meant to be this way — in love and warm and content.</p><p>Harry sinks further into Draco’s embrace, sighing. He could never tire of this.</p><p>“Do you think Neville would miss us if we left?” Draco asks in his ear, voice low. His breath sends a slight shiver down Harry’s spine. He wonders if Draco intended that.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure he’s already left with Blaise,” he responds, and he can feel Draco’s laughter, more so than hear it.</p><p>There’s the familiar tug of Apparition in Harry’s gut, before the fireworks slip away.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Harry lands in the alley beside The Three Broomsticks, arms still around Draco. He curses at the unexpected snow, the world spinning a little. Draco’s eyes <em>burn</em>. Harry’s heart pounds at their proximity and that look.</p><p>Before he can figure out what’s happening, Draco’s lips are against his, hands gripping his collar to pull him close, and Harry sinks into the kiss. He can barely believe that this is happening.</p><p>He winds his fingers into Draco’s hair, messing it up even further, and Draco makes a small noise of protest against his lips.</p><p>“We should get back to Hogwarts,” Harry mutters.</p><p>So they do.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Harry feels alive, blood singing. Draco’s hands leave trails of fire over his skin. Adrenaline courses through him.</p><p>They slip through the secret passages, hands interlocked, avoiding the portraits and the possibility of running into other people.</p><p>Once, they have to stop when Draco pins Harry to the wall in a dark passage.</p><p>Once, they stop when Harry tells him to do it again.</p><p>-x-</p><p>All Harry knows is Draco. Draco. <em>Draco</em>.</p><p>Draco’s name on his lips, Draco’s hair in his hands, Draco’s face buried in his neck.</p><p>Harry mutters his praises, half-wondering if he’s dreaming, and Draco silences him with a searing kiss.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Harry isn’t dreaming.</p><p>He’s real — so is Draco. Draco’s lips travel down his neck, and Harry’s back arches.</p><p>All of this is real.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Draco rolls onto his back. Sweeps his hair from his face. It splays on the pillow.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Harry’s fingers intertwine with Draco’s. <em>I love you.</em></p><p>-x-</p><p>Saturday.</p><p>Harry wakes to Draco, and the sun.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>But really though, whose child <em>was</em> that on the tree? 🤔</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. artwork</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspired by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Lit_(Toulouse-Lautrec)">Le Lit</a>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>⛄ This work is part of the H/D Mistletoe winter gift exchange. If you enjoyed it, spread the love by leaving the author a kudos and a comment, and consider reblogging the fest tumblr post <a href="https://gwbexchange.tumblr.com/post/640693628146171904/all-our-tomorrows-i-want-forever-with-you">here. </a>❄️</p>
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